


Sick Beds and Mr. Sweden

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sweden hides an injury from a flustered, frustrated, and worried Finland, who must decide how best to handle the situation and his conflicted feelings. De-anon from the Hetalia Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It occurred to Finland, as he sat watching Sweden’s restless and pained sleep, that perhaps he should have noticed something amiss sooner, before the situation had progressed to this sorry state. Pressing the cold compress to Sweden’s forehead, Finland allowed himself a reprieve from self-recrimination and became determined to lay at least a fraction of the blame for this latest debacle at Sweden’s stubborn, prideful feet. “ _Such nonsense_ , he thought, his worry unabated as Sweden remained trapped in his fever dreams, “ _such nonsense could have been avoided if we ever actually spoke to one another”_.

The candles in Sweden’s chamber had burned low during Finland’s evening vigil, the forest gone quiet in the time before night gives way to dawn, and in this stillness, listening to Sweden murmur his name, struggling to making a decision, he couldn’t help but think of what had brought them here. Doubtless, Finland believed, anyone looking in from the outside would be baffled as to how Sweden could have hidden his battle injury from Finland, widely rumored to be the injured man’s “wife”, (this, too, was dismissed by the Finn as nonsense) long enough for the wound to have gone bad.

It was true, Finland grudgingly acquiesced, that he did spend an inordinate of time with Sweden. They ate together, passed the endless days of summer and the cold of winter together, occasionally saw battle together and generally ambled along in a more or less comfortable and monotonous existence in Sweden’s house. Though Finland would never claim unhappiness with his current situation, he was safe, cared for, and generally in good company, he was also never unaware that it was Sweden’s bounty that sustained his happy little life, Sweden’s house, Sweden’s food, Sweden’s wars, Sweden’s everything. Even after the many years, so little belonged solely to him.

But back then it had been even worse.

For a time when they had first fled Denmark’s house, he had feared that he, too, would become part of the spoils of war, called “wife” and held close and tight against Sweden’s unforgiving chest at night under the ruse of “keeping warm.” Such an excuse was a little believable in the depths of a Nordic winter, Finland allowed, but he balked at the need for shared body heat in the sticky unpleasantness of summer. It was just too unseemly, all that sweat and skin bordering on displeasing to be any kind of legitimate reason. He had certainly never _asked_ for a human blanket! And yet it was the only reason Sweden could ever come up with when questioned, his lack of creativity almost as appalling as his presumption.

For months Finland had waited, anxious and afraid, for Sweden to progress from awkward cuddling to taking what was rightfully his as conqueror. But the moment never came and as the years in Sweden’s house wore on, Finland slowly started to clear a room while Sweden was away at war. He was careful, wary of upsetting the man out of his stoicism and into preemptive action. However, if Sweden noticed the progress taking place in little room at the end of his hallway, he never said anything. If anything, he only became somehow even less communicative, all while delaying his return to the battlefields, holding Finland close when they went to bed in silence.

Finland made his move during the next of Sweden’s long absences from home, building himself a bed less sturdy and comfortable than the expansive goose down mattress he to which was accustomed. And yet, for several nights he had reveled in his own sheets ( _Well_ , he supposed, _technically, they were still Sweden’s, but there was no Swede in them, making a world of difference!_ ) until he felt Sweden’s return to his nation. His nerves began to grow at the same rate as the returning man’s progress towards home.

Would there be a scene, Finland wondered anxiously, imagining that his subtle rebellion would rouse some horrible Viking reaction. The day that Sweden was to return, he screwed what courage he had to his sticking point and promptly went early to his own bed, shivering in fear under the covers he had purloined from Sweden’s musty attic, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. As the heavy front door opened, he heard Sweden call his name in greeting, then in question when all the only response was vague echoes from the halls. He listened as Sweden climbed the stairs, perhaps with more haste than normal, swung open the door to the formerly shared bedroom, and then all fell still and quiet once more.

Finland held his breath, fingers clenched in sheets, as footsteps approached the door to his bedroom. As the moment of anticipation stretched out beyond any reasonable length of time, his fear peaked. He was on the verge of throwing open the door and throwing himself at Sweden’s feet and apologizing profusely for ever wanting something so selfish as a bed he didn’t have to share with an intimidating hulk of man, when Sweden finally spoke:

“Finland?” A question, mumbled as anything he ever said, but hesitant and seemingly nervous.

“….y—es, Sweden?” Finland replied, sitting forward in the bed, heart readying itself to leap from his chest. The silence lingered again, broken only by the thumping sound of what Finland could only guess was Sweden’s hand coming to rest on the door frame.

Eventually a reply came, almost whispered: “Ah. ‘m home. Sorry to have woken you. Night.”

And then only the sounds of retreat.

Finland listened for the slamming of Sweden’s door or even just a gentle closing, any sign to indicate how his little subversion had gone over with lord and master. But there was no sound forthcoming and after several hours of sitting anxiously awake in his bed, Finland confronted the situation as best as he knew how and crept into the hallway by candlelight. All he found was Sweden’s open door in a darkened hallway.

Sweden made no mention of the new sleeping arrangements the next morning, nor any subsequent morning that followed. After several weeks of discomfited bumbling on Finland’s part and awkward avoidance by Sweden, the tension began to fade. Their strange tango calmed into something manageable and even pleasant; through shared meals and household chores, joint ventures onto the battlefield, and a healthy dose of strong liquor on occasion, Finland found contentment in his situation. Contentment that was threatened only by the yearning looks Sweden sometimes failed to disguise and the bedroom door that was deliberately left open each night, a standing invitation unspoken by one man and unheeded by the other.

It was against this backdrop of willful ignorance that Finland had failed to notice the injury that had managed to put Sweden to sickbed.


	2. Chapter 2

The lord of the house had returned home from a skirmish in Poland, battle weary but victorious. Finland had paid little mind to the circles under his eyes and the slight shake in his hand as he served dinner and poured the evening ale. He chalked up Sweden’s even greater tendency towards silence as the price to be paid for a hard fight won. Finland filled the quiet with chatter while he washed the dishes and failed to take any note of Sweden’s early departure from the table.

The next morning, Finland found it curious that the smudges under Sweden’s eyes had only grown darker, more pronounced against the unnatural pallor of his skin. He was working up the courage to ask Sweden if anything was wrong when the other man abruptly pushed his chair away from the table and announced that he would spend the remainder of the day in his workshop and was not to be disturbed. This, more than anything, perplexed the Finn—Sweden had never forbid him from any of his rooms, or even ever told Finland specifically NOT to do something (except perhaps cook that one dish again, but that was another matter entirely).

He spent the morning worrying over this unexpected action of Sweden’s, fearing that he had angered his taciturn overlord, scared that maybe the other man had finally grown weary of his inadequate company and that he would be turned from the house. The thought of having to fend off Russia alone was enough drive Finland to distraction. By his own admission, Sweden may have been gruff and difficult to read, but he had never been anything but kind if bordering on overly considerate.

He was still turning the problem over and over in his mind, resolving himself to apologize to Sweden as soon as opportunity arose, as he set the table for dinner. Standing on the very tips of his toes, Finland was cursing his lack of height when he felt Sweden pressing into his back, reaching above Finland’s out-stretched hand to grab the large serving dish. Startled out of his worrisome reverie, Finland took note of the cold sweat dotting the taller man’s forehead, the tremor in his arm, and the way he clearly favored his left side. Finland’s suspicion grew into a solid hunch when he heard Sweden’s slight wheeze and saw his wince as he sat back down at the time. All of his worry for himself was immediately shifted to Sweden.

He rounded the table, stopping directly in front of the still seated man, summoning all his bravery to directly confront that stony, scary, and somewhat startled expression, exclaiming, “Sweden, sir, are you injured!? Have you been walking around these past days with a battle wound?”

Naturally, Sweden said nothing, merely turning his glare towards the wall and grunting. But for Finland this was confirmation enough.

“Ah-ah! That won’t work with me! I know that when you won’t look at it me it means you don’t want to tell me something! Don’t…don’t be angry with me, Sweden, sir!” Finland took a deep, steadying breath before continuing, “But if you are hurt, you should tell me! I should be helping you and making sure you are well.”

At this last, Finland found himself once again confronted with Sweden’s intimidating gaze. The other man said nothing, neither confirming nor denying Finland’s accusation, simply staring. Finland swallowed and wrung his hands, hoping that he hadn’t spoken out of turn, but truly, Sweden was starting to look so awful that Finland feared he had turned dangerously feverish from the untreated wound. Internally, Finland waged a brief war with himself, knowing that there was likely one surefire way to overcome Sweden’s stubborn reticence, though the thought caused a strange queasiness in his stomach.

“ _To say such things to such a man, even if they were not entirely untrue. Who knew where such a path would lead!”_ But, Finland reckoned, if he did nothing, Sweden would continue to persist in such a state for whatever reasons he had to be so reckless in the first place.

Allowing himself one, last, mental epic sigh, Finland charged forward in his battle against the stubborn Swede, tentatively placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder and gaining immediate and undivided attention from the unexpected touch. Feeling Sweden’s heavy gaze, he fought down his blush and his nerves, and turned towards him, speaking quietly but forcefully, “I worry if you are ill or in pain, Sweden, sir. I want to take care of you…so you should let me see what’s wrong so I can do right by you!”

Abruptly, Sweden dropped his eyes, covering the hand resting on his shoulder with his own. Still staring at the floor, he mumbled, “Don’t want you to see me weak. Supposed to take care of you.”

Finland was simultaneously touched, flushed, and frustrated. “ _Silly, stubborn, sweet man”,_ he thought, “ _what am I to do in the face of such nonsense?_ ” Instead of chastising Sweden further for his charming idiocy, Finland shushed him gently, moving his hand to pull up Sweden’s tunic to inspect his injured torso.

The sight of the mottled bruise and inflamed gash caused the Finn to lose any sense of propriety and patience.

“Perkele! What the hell have you done to yourself! This needs to be cleaned and stitched immediately, no wonder you look half-dead of fever!” He immediately ran for the bandages and stoked the fire hot enough to sterilize the needle for stitching. While waiting for the needle to heat, he handed Sweden a glass of vodka, telling him flatly, “For the pain. This will not be a pleasant experience.”

Sweden snorted and shook his head, retorting, “Was a Viking once. This s’nothing,” though he drank the liquor anyways. A sickly flush had spread across his cheeks by the time Finland took a seat at his side, armed with needle, thread, and bandages.

“Um, this may hurt…” Finland said haltingly before pouring a measure of hot water down the wound, listening for sounds of obvious distress from his patient. Sweden bore this in silence, taking another swig of vodka as he watched Finland thread the needle.

“If you need me to stop, just tell me, alright?” Finland said softly, rubbing Sweden’s arm in apology. Sweden merely nodded, leaning slightly into Finland’s touch, before placing a firm grip on the table for support through the painful ordeal.

Some time later, after a good deal of shaking and swearing on Finland’s part and vodka consumption by Sweden, the two men slowly made their way towards the Swede’s bed chambers. Finland was struggling to support the larger man who was now battling both fever and intoxication. By the time Finland helped Sweden settle on the bed he was sweating slightly and wishing for his own glass of vodka to calm his racing nerves.

He smoothed down the covers around Sweden, watching him shiver even under the heavy down, before patting him lightly on the arm and saying, “You must rest now, Sweden, sir. You have quite the fever—I’ll go get a cold compress, you just sleep.”

He turned to leave the room, stopping at the sound of Sweden attempting to speak.

“Wish you wouldn’t call me sir,” the sick man said, with words blurred and eyes half open.

Startled, Finland came and sat beside the bed, placing his fingers on Sweden’s wrist, feeling his erratic pulse and clammy skin. Worried, but not overly panicked, Finland decided to indulge Sweden in this fever and vodka induced conversation.

“Oh? How would you like me to address you?” He returned lightly, not really paying attention to the other man as he tried to count his heartbeats.

Neither fever nor alcohol seemed to have any effect on the speed with which Sweden replied to questions, so it was several moments before he replied, “Mmm, you can call me just Sweden,” and several more counted heartbeats before he continued, “or darling. That’d be nice.”

Finland dropped his wrist in shock, flushing deeply. _"Darling, of all terms endearment?!"_ His poor mind was having difficulty trying to process something so incongruous falling from the stoic Sweden's mouth. “ _He wants me to call him darling. Who knew Sweden was such a romantic”,_ he thought, a small desperate giggle breaking loose from his chest. Slow response time or no, it would appear that the combination of sickness and drunkenness was enough to overcome Sweden’s shyness. Finland paused, heart thumping as he waged yet another internal war to determine whether or not he really wanted an answer to his question, before asking lightly,

“Oh? And what will you call me, then?”

This time the response was immediate and articulate, “Sweetheart.” Declaration over, Sweden promptly fell asleep.

 _"Sweetheart?!"_ Finland thought as he pushed backwards from the bed in alarm, _"So he does feel such things for me. It’s not just conquest or possession. All those nights and the open bedroom door were no form of coercion…he’s just been waiting, watching…and wanting without demands?"_

Finland sat back, breathing deeply in an attempt to gather his scattered thoughts and to quell his racing heart, silently admonishing Sweden for having destroyed decades’ worth of carefully crafted willful ignorance with one simple admission.

And so Finland sat, keeping careful vigil over Sweden’s restless sleep, letting his tumultuous thoughts play out by candlelight. For so long, he had been so wary of Sweden’s silent strength, fearful of being overwhelmed by force, taken at will. He’d ignored the yearning glances, remembering the tension of sleepless nights in a strong embrace. He’d left the question in Sweden’s actions and gestures go unanswered, telling himself that as long as it had gone unvoiced it was alright. With Sweden’s one-word declaration, Finland realized that he had long since stopped fearing being overwhelmed by Sweden’s brute strength and had long been bracing himself from being overwhelmed by Sweden’s silent devotion.

 _"And so",_ Finland mused, taking one of Sweden’s large hands between his own; _"I must decide how to move forward in this battle between us two. I can’t say 'love,' not enough of my own breathing room to decide on love, but I can’t say 'not love,' since I care and I do not want to be parted from his side.”_

Sighing, he stood, stretching out the aching muscles gained from a sick-bed vigil, before carefully climbing over Sweden’s sleeping body to lie down by his side, too worried and too tired emotionally and physically to return to his own hard-earned bed. Examining his companion’s face for signs of distress, he gently swept his fingers through Sweden’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead, relieved to feel the fever receding.

 _“All I can do is be here and stop letting us hide in silence”,_ he thought, _"Saying nothing of importance for so long brought us to this sad state of affairs. Anything has to be more productive that this!"_

Finland pulled his hand back from Sweden’s forehead, ready to collapse from exhaustion, when he heard Sweden mumble, “Finland…that you?”

“Shhh, yes, it’s me. Go back to sleep.”

Sweden shifted on to his uninjured side to face the Finn, exhaling softly, “You came in tonight. Been waiting so long for you to do that.”

Figuring that Sweden was still feverish, Finland chose not to remind the other man of the nonsense that had occurred to bring about this much wanted sleeping arrangement. In light of the evening’s revelations it seemed unnecessary. Boundaries had been broken that Finland wasn’t sure he wished to repair.

“Yes, I am here,” he paused, considering his next words, “Sweden.” He leaned up and gently pushed the other man on to his back, carefully settling his head on Sweden’s shoulder and placing a hand on his chest far. He felt Sweden’s arm wrap around his waist in turn, fingers absently stroking his hip. Sweden opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to question, but Finland stopped him with fingers against his lips.

“Sleep now, darling," Finland paused at Sweden's sharp inhale of breath, "get well and I’ll be here in the morning.”


End file.
